The End of All Things
by Frannie1
Summary: As the sequel to The Long, Intriguing Summer, this story deals with the pain of death and past mistakes as the characters begin to understand that all things must come to an end.
1. Chapter I

Author's Note: For anyone who has read this before 7 June 2004, I've added onto it to complete chapter one. 

Harry Potter was dead. He had been dead for five years. Everyone had felt it in their hearts that it would happen. When he left the common room that last time, she knew that she would never see him again, though at the time it was just a sick feeling in her stomach. She could hardly forgive herself for letting him go. Ron said that he would have gone anyway, no matter what she or anyone else had done to stop him. 

For four years his image had haunted her dreams; when she turned a corner, his face lingered in the darkness. She couldn't let go. But on the fifth year, she found herself able to accept what had happened. He was dead, and most likely he was where he belonged: With his parents. 

The reason she had even thought of Harry was because it was it birthday. That wasn't to say she didn't think of him often, she had just realized it was the thirty-first of July. It was marked on her calendar above her cluttered desk at the Ministry of Magic. She could justify being employed there because the corruption was gone. Otherwise, it would have been out of the question. 

She stared at the framed photograph of she, Harry, and Ron. It was the only still photograph on the desk, and now she wished it was a moving one, like the kind wizards possessed. She sighed deeply. That was the last time they had been happy together. After that, things had gotten out of control. Harry was never back to the common room by the time she went to bed, and he was always gone by the time she got up in the morning. 

"All right, Hermione?" someone said, interrupting her thoughts. 

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "You startled me." Not knowing what else to do, she hugged him tightly from behind her desk. "It's good to see you." 

"Yeah." Ron still had the same flaming red hair and freckles. Hermione suspected they would never leave him. "Listen, my dad keeps talking about having you over for dinner, only he never invites you. I figured this is as good a time as any." 

"I'd love to," Hermione replied, smiling. Ron smiled back, cocking his mouth to one side in the way he always used to do. "Uh...I'm sorry this is such a mess. Have a seat." 

"That's okay," he replied. "I can't stay long anyway. Training, y'know." He smiled mischievously. 

"You mean--? You're training to be an auror?" She threw her arms around him again. "I had no idea! Why didn't you tell me?" 

Ron shrugged. "It never seemed like the right time." 

"Harry would have been proud." 

"I know." Ron suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, I should be going. Come around six, okay?" He waved. 

"All right! Bye!" Hermione sat down again and picked up a quill. It would be good to spend some time with Ron again. 

"Wonderful," Hermione muttered, pulling her coat tighter around her. The rain was pouring down from the sky in great sheets. With every howl of the wind, she was splashed in the face. As she shuffled down the long gravel drive, she began to wonder why she hadn't Apparated closer to the Weasleys' house. 

When she reached the door, she took out a mirror and fixed her hair. Before she could knock, the door flew open. Startled, she stumbled back, a hand pressed to her chest. 

"Hermione!" a red-haired girl exclaimed. "Oh, for goodness sake, come in!" She grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her inside, her long red hair bouncing. "You look a mess." 

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione said, once she had closed the door. "It's good to see you too." 

Ginny laughed and roughly took Hermione's coat. "Dinner'll be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you come and sit down?" Ginny acted so young, Hermione could hardly believe she was merely a year younger than herself. 

Ginny walked off and Hermione followed a few steps behind. It had been a long time since she had last set foot in this house. Too long, probably. She had meant to go, but there was always something nagging at the back of her mind. "Good lord, Hermione, you've changed." 

Her heart skipped a beat and she stumbled on her heels. She was nearly speechless...nearly. "George," she breathed. "I..." 

"That's a very pretty dress," he said, sitting down. George's hair was longer now, longer than his twin's was. She supposed that now people could tell them apart. "Have a seat. Fred's just nipped off to fetch some butter. Mum ran out, I guess." He turned his head to peer into the kitchen. "She's really cooking up a storm in there." 

"There's really quite a storm out there, too," was Hermione's feeble attempt at a joke. And he didn't laugh either. "Er...how's the shop?" 

"Fine," he replied. "I heard you graduated top in your class. Congratulations." 

"Thanks," she said quickly. "Nothing to brag about really. It just emphasizes the fact that I've got no social life. Nothing to do but study, you know." 

"Right." George's one-word answers were quite unsettling to Hermione, yet she couldn't quite figure out why they were so. 

She didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, because Mrs. Weasley came bustling in with the food. "Oh, Hermione, dear, it's wonderful to see you! You look so lovely!" She put the food on and hugged Hermione tightly. "It's good to see you've got some meat on those bones. You know, for a while, you really had us worried. Especially my little Ron, you know." 

"Mum," Ron whined, sitting down beside Hermione. "Hey, Hermione." She gave him a small smile. "I just want to thank you all for having me over," Hermione said, blushing slightly. "With all the work lately at the Ministry, I really haven't had time for much else." 

"You're telling me," said Mr. Weasley. He had just come through the door. "Our department is swamped with paperwork. It's good to have Hermione with us--she's quite an asset. Fast worker, very fast." He grinned at her and sat down. Hermione flushed even more. "Thank you, but there's no better worker than you, Mr. Weasley." 

"Enough!" Fred Weasley burst into the room. "Congratulations, you're both responsible for the most irritating conversation ever." "Fred," Mr. Weasley warned. "You shouldn't talk to Hermione like that." "Or your father," Mrs. Weasley interjected. 

Fred tossed the butter onto the table and wiped the water droplets from his spiky red hair. "So, let's eat." 

"Wait," Ron said quickly. He stood up and raised his glass of red wine. "Any day that brings us all together is a very special day, but five years and two months ago, we all lost a very good friend. Today would be Harry's twenty-second birthday and I just wanted to honor that." He cleared his throat. "To Harry Potter, the bravest man I've ever known." 

"Harry Potter," they murmured. 

Hermione looked around at the sad faces. Ginny was crying silently and Mrs. Weasley was bawling, blowing her nose on her napkin. Hermione dabbed at her eyes and waited for everyone else to begin the meal. 

"What's this?" Hermione picked a card up from the mantle, peering at it closely. It was a sort of sympathy card, though there were many beautifully handwritten S's all over it. 

"It's a card from Malfoy--Draco, not his father." Ron looked at it from beside her. "Open it if you want. It was quite shock when Pig brought it. I guess Draco didn't know who else to send it to." 

"I can't believe it," Hermione muttered. "It's a written apology...for everything he's done to you." She gaped at Ron. "I never got one." 

"No, see, he's written a bit to you." Ron pointed at the curvy scrawl near the bottom. "See? He's sorry he called you a mudblood...well, he's not sure of the exact number of times..." 

"He should be." She put the card back in its place. 

"I thought about having it framed." Ron smiled thoughtfully, staring at the card. "Just to prove that he'd said it and really _meant it_." 

"I just saw him too," Hermione added. "He barely looked at me." 

"Following in his father's dirty footsteps, I suppose," Ron said, a tinge of anger in his voice. 

"Ron," she said disapprovingly, touching his shoulder lightly. Then she sat down and stared into the fire. "I'm glad we're still friends, Ron." 

"Me too," he replied. He ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes from hers. "I've been thinking..." 

"About?" Hermione prodded. 

"About you and me," he said quickly. Ron took a breath, looking at the befuddled expression on her face. "I know that it didn't work between us back in school, but I thought maybe we could give it another go." 

Hermione's face fell. "Ron, I can't. It's just not a good time in my life for a relationship. You heard your father, we're swamped at the Ministry. Besides, you're in the middle of your training. I'd only get in the way." 

"That's what you said last time," Ron said glumly. "There's never time for anything but work in your life. When _will_ it be a good time for a relationship?" Ron turned around and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. 

"Fine, I'll just let myself out," Hermione muttered to herself. The house was dark, she noted, save for a tiny light in the doorway. She put on her coat and stepped outside. "Ooh, rain," she grumbled, pulling on her hood. 

"It's let up a bit." 

Hermione whirled around, yelping with fright, to face George. "You startled me," she said, observing him tossing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. "What are you doing out here?" 

"I live here," he replied. "Mum won't let me smoke in the house." 

Hermione stared at him, expecting him to say more. She let out a frustrated sigh and said, "It's been five years, George. Can't we just put it behind us? I'm sorry for what I did--don't you think I didn't regret it every day?" 

"I thought I loved you and you gave me nothing in return, not even a letter." George sighed and went to the door. "God knows I wrote enough." 

"Letters?" Hermione gaped at him. "I've got plenty of letters!" George turned around and watched as she dug around in her cotton satchel. She pulled a bundle out, tied with twine. "Here." She forced the bundle into his hands. "There's five _years_ worth of letters!" Before he could speak, she had Apparated. 


	2. Chapter II

_Dear George, _

I cannot even tell you how sorry I am. I feel horrible about what happened last week...last month...last year...two years ago...all those years ago. That's how they all began. Most of the letters were unfinished and they generally said the same thing. The last was the longest--Hermione had had five years to dwell on it. She had asked about the shop, apologized several times, rambled about what she had been doing, and apologized again. George didn't feel this made up for what she had done. He figured nothing ever would. It wasn't as if he had only been close to one woman--he had had girlfriends before Hermione and a few after. But none of them had made him particularly happy. 

He packed the letters in a drawer and crawled into bed. He didn't bother changing into his pyjamas. After all, he was just going to have to change back in the morning. He closed his eyes and attempted to fall asleep, something that gradually reached him. 

Ron poured the tea into his cup and added both sugar and milk. He was still gloomy about Hermione's rejection a few nights ago, but was looking forward to another day of Auror training. He looked up as Fred came down the stairs, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He yawned and asked tiredly, "Where's Mum?" He sat down at the table. "Where's breakfast?" 

"Mum's out," Ron answered, not looking up from the _Daily Prophet_ he was reading. "And breakfast is whatever you can find." 

"Mum's out?" Fred repeated. "She never goes out." 

"Well, she's _out_," Ron said again, anger in his tone. 

Fred frowned. "Looks like somebody rolled off the wrong side of the bed this morning." Ron ignored him. "What's wrong with you, anyway?" 

"Nothing," Ron replied. 

"Oh, wait. Let me guess." Fred spooned some sugar into his tea. "This has something to do with Hermione, doesn't it? I figured her showing up would throw off the Weasley harmony we had. What happened?" Ron continued to stare at the newspaper until Fred snatched it away. "_Tell_ me, Ron. I'm your brother--I'm supposed to do this kind of stuff." 

Ron rolled his eyes, sighing. "Then why don't you leave me alone?" 

"Sorry, not until you tell me what's going on." Fred took a sip of his tea, waiting. 

"Hermione said 'no' again." Fred looked confused, so he elaborated, "When she came for supper, I asked if we could date again. She said it wasn't a good time, that she was too busy with work." 

Fred clasped his hands together, leaning on the table. "Y'see, Ron, Hermione...well, Hermione's a confused girl. I don't think she really knows what she wants." He tousled his younger brother's flaming-red hair. "You'll find other girls, Ron, even if this one doesn't work out." 

"There won't _be_ any other girls," Ron insisted. "Not as long as I love her." 

There was a crashing noise and they both whirled around. George was sprawled out at the bottom of the stair, his legs halfway to the second storey. He quickly picked himself up and checked his nose for blood. 

"Quite a fall you took," Fred said, a small smile on his face. Ron, however, wore nothing but a frown. 

"I have to wake myself up somehow," George replied, rubbing his arm. 

"Are you all right?" Fred asked rather unconcernedly. "You didn't hit your head too hard, did you?" 

"'Course not," George answered. "Erm...what were you...what were you talking about?" Ron glared at him briefly and walked away. 

George turned to his twin, who waited until Ron was out of sight to say, "Very graceful, though you should have used Extendable Ears. That might have prevented the...fall." 

"How did you know?" George questioned, grabbing a piece of toast. 

"You even have to ask?" Fred smirked. He watched his brother slowly chew on his toast and drink from his glass of orange juice. 

George stopped and said, "Wha'?" 

"You said you were done with her--that there wasn't a hint of a feeling for her." Fred crossed his arms. "You've been depressed for too long, George, and I was just getting used to your cheerful self again." 

"I don't feel _anything_ for her!" George protested. 

"Oh, my mistake, perhaps I imagined you tumbling down three flights of stairs," Fred said. 

George laughed a little, and then said, "No, I was just startled, that's all. It's not every day your brother says he loves someone." 

"Yes, but, Ron's been saying that since he met her," Fred retorted. George said nothing. "You're not doing yourself or Hermione any good. She's moved on and so should you." 

George looked up at him. "How would you know anything about her feelings toward me?" 

Worry flashed across Fred's face for a moment. He brought his empty cup to the sink, something he normally did with his wand. "I could tell, of course. Couldn't you?" 

"You've been seeing her...behind my back," George said forcefully. "And you never told me." 

"She wanted to talk, so, I--erm--lent a friendly ear," Fred explained a little weakly. 

"So, she talked to you about _all_ of her feelings, then, did she?" George said nastily. "And I suppose you were a nice shoulder to cry on too?" He threw on his cloak. "Don't bother coming into the shop today. I can manage it myself, seeing as I don't have any distractions like weepy girls." The stunned look on his brother's face made George regret what he had said almost instantly. However, he had Apparated and reappeared outside Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes before he could redeem himself. 

He grabbed the large brass key from his pocket and unlocked the door. With a few flicks of his wand, the candles were lit and he could see the many rows of pranks and all kinds of risky, somewhat dangerous foods (all of which he and Fred had created themselves). He remembered that without Harry, none of this would have been possible. 

Business was definitely lagging, he found as he glanced over the month's financial records. The Hogwarts students (their biggest customers) were all at school and the twins had no real direct link to the school anymore. Order forms and such were, of course, available by Owl Post, but what they needed was advertising. They had so far gotten an advert in the _Daily Prophet_, but it wasn't doing as much as they had hoped. "Zonko's," he muttered. _That's it_, he thought, _Zonko's_! "Whatever they don't have, we do." 

At that moment, the chime on the door rang and George looked up. "Hello, welcome to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. How can I help--oh, it's you." 

"Well, you don't sound very happy to see me," Angelina Johnson said, lowering her hood. 

"There's a simple explanation for that," George said, smiling insincerely. 

She held up a hand. "_Don't_ say it." She glanced around the shop. "Where's your better half?" 

"Fred?" he smirked. "Oh, we had a blazing row earlier and I ended up blowing him to bits. I'm going to start selling the pieces, if you're interested." 

"Ha, ha," Angelina replied, ignoring George's childish grin. She stared at him, waiting. "Well?" 

"He's not here," he answered simply. 

"Is he going to _be_ here anytime today?" she asked impatiently. George shook his head. In a frustrated tone of voice, she said, "He was _supposed_ to be here." At George's questioning look, she went on, "We were going to go shopping to get him some new dress robes--one that won't completely clash with my dress." 

Not knowing how else to respond, he asked, "Why?" 

"We're going dancing," she replied, smiling. "If he does come in, George, tell him we'll go tomorrow, and that if he doesn't show up, I'll fry his brain." With a quick wave, she was out the door. 

George had just gone back to the records again when the door was flung open and Angelina was back. "I meant to tell you--I ran into Hermione on my way here." 

"Did you?" he asked, trying not to sound too interested. 

"I haven't seen her in ages," Angelina continued. "She looked really well, a little pale, perhaps. I expect that's from all the raids on Muggles. They're getting worse, you know." 

George nodded. "My father, remember, he works there as well." 

"Right, well, that's all I wanted to say." She started out the door again. 

"Angelina," he called after her. She turned, smiling. "Did you speak with her?" 

"Briefly," she replied. Angelina crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Why do you ask?" 

"I just wanted to know if she was all right," George said. "We spoke earlier and she didn't seem herself." 

"Well, I hardly recognized her without a book in her hand," she said, laughing a bit. "I'll see you later." 

Slowly, he rose and tiptoed to the window. He had no idea why as he was perfectly alone. He peered down the alley and discovered that Angelina was gone. Assuming she had Apparated, he slipped out the door. _What are you_ doing_?_ he asked himself. _She's not here for _you, _and even if she was, you shouldn't care. Hermione doesn't matter anymore._ Nevertheless, he quickly locked the door and walked casually out into the street. He didn't see her anywhere--had Angelina been playing some kind of joke on him to see what he would do? She had never said _when_ she had seen Hermione. Sighing, he sat down near the fountain of Sloggard the Slovenly and watched the door of his shop. It looked cheery enough, though no one was trying to enter it. 

Quietly, a girl sat down beside him. George refrained from looking at her. He noticed she took out a large book and he stole a glance at her. She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a small face, with a delicate chin and pouty red lips. George nearly fell backwards into the fountain. 

He was just able to turn away when she dropped her book and asked worriedly, "Are you all right?" He nodded emphatically, trying to keep out of sight. "Are you sure? I'm sorry if I startled you; I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." 

He waved his hand, trying to communicate that he wasn't holding a grudge. He lowered his voice and put on a sort of Cockney accent, saying, "Oh no, not at all." George got up quickly and started to walk away, back towards his shop. When he was a safe distance from her, he glanced back. However, she was gone. 

"George," said a voice on his right. He jumped. "I _knew_ it was you." 

"Hermione," he began nervously, "what are you doing here?" 

"I was trying to enjoy my day off," she said pointedly. "Business poor?" Hermione glanced inside the empty shop. He shrugged. "So, are you going to stand there looking baffled or are you going to explain why you're avoiding me?" 

"Avoiding you? Me?" He tried to sound aghast. "Why would you say that?" 

Hermione crossed her arms. "Don't be daft, George." She paused and a hesitant look came to her face. "Can we talk?" 

George nodded and led her into the joke shop. He produced a few chairs and they sat down. They were silent for a few awkward moments, and then George said quietly, "I've been thinking about what I said the other day..." 

"You read my letters, then," Hermione replied softly. "So that's why you're being so nice all of the sudden." He gave a small nod. "I'm so sorry, George. Leaving you was one of the most heartless things I've ever done." 

"I haven't been angry with you, Hermione," he said. "At first I was...I've mostly been trying to forget about you entirely, trying to forget we'd ever had anything...together." She bit her lip. "And then you show up on my doorstep. I couldn't help it--I just exploded." 

She nodded, trying to remain composed. "I understand." She was silent for a long while, while George got some tea for them both. 

"So," he began carefully, "you taken the day off? I thought it was so busy there." 

She shook her head. "I resigned." George gaped at her. "Apparently helping Muggles with bewitched kitchen supplies isn't my true calling. I'm surprised I didn't get sacked, I was doing such poor work." George continued to stare at her, mouth open. "Of course your father wouldn't say anything to me." 

"_Hermione_," George interrupted, "Dad has nothing but compliments for you." 

She looked uncomfortable. "Well, there was one time I turned in a report a day late. I could see the disappointment on his face. He wanted to sack me right then and there." 

"No, he didn't," George stated. "You imagined it." 

"I did not," she protested. "You should have seen his eyes!" 

"Well, I have seen my father's eyes when he's disappointed," George replied. "More than once, if you can believe it." Hermione laughed and George smiled crookedly. "I never thought I'd hear that sound again." 

"What?" she asked. "Me laughing?" He nodded. "Well, that's what friends do." 

"I'll have to get used to that." After George spoke, there was an awkward silence. "Er...I suppose I should get to work. I have to fill a few orders." 

"Oh." Hermione stood up quickly, setting the teacup down on the counter. "It was nice talking to you. I'm glad we can again." She walked to the door and slung her satchel over her shoulder. "I've missed you...and the others." 

"Me too," George said, approaching her. "Erm, do _friends_ kiss each other good-bye?" 

"Sure." Instead of kissing each other's cheeks, their lips met briefly. "I'll see you later." 

"Yeah. 'Bye." He stood by the window, staring after her. She was smiling, actually smiling. Because of him? He stopped. No, he wasn't going to fall for her again. He watched her disappearing figure. He couldn't quite forgive her...not yet. Some things, however, were a little too irresistible. 


	3. Chapter III

"_Impedimenta_!" cried Ron, and his attacker was thrown to the hard floor. He wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily, as he watched the man pull himself to his feet. 

"_Stupefy_!" 

"_Protego_!" Ron shouted quickly, his shield blocking the stunning spell. "Are you done yet?" he yelled, dodging yet another stunning spell. 

"You--wish!" the man shouted back. "_Petrificus totalus_!" This time he didn't miss, and Ron's arms and legs snapped together and he fell, stiff as a board. "I think we're finished, Mr. Weasley." The man, who had long and scraggly grey hair and shabby robes, pulled Ron to his feet. "Are you all right?" 

"Perfect, Professor Lupin," Ron replied with difficulty, using the Professor's robes to steady himself. 

Putting his wand away, Lupin sighed, "How many times must I tell you--call me Remus. After all, we're colleagues now." 

"Not quite," said Ron, sounding defeated. "I've still got years of training to do." 

Lupin put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You'll do fine, Ron." He held open the door and they both stepped through. As they walked down the dark corridor of the Ministry of Magic, Lupin said softly, "You know, I was very involved in getting you into this program." Ron glanced up at him. "I knew your N.E.W.T. scores would not be good enough for the Ministry, but you have been fighting Dark Wizards since your first year, right alongside Harry. I told them you could prove yourself and that quick thinking, more than cleverness, is what allows one to survive." 

"Thank you, Professor," Ron said quietly. "I wanted to do this for Harry--it's what he wanted to do, you know." 

Lupin nodded, smiling, but did not look at Ron. "He would be proud of you." 

"Thanks." They stepped into the lift that would take them up several floors to the Atrium. "I'll see you on Monday, Profes--erm--Remus." 

"If it makes you uncomfortable, you may continue to call me 'Professor,'" said Lupin, his lips twitching slightly. 

Ron shook his head. "I'm just not used to it is all. Well, 'bye, then." He turned down another corridor where there was a public fireplace. Quickly, he tossed a handful of glittering Floo Powder into the fire and said carefully, "The Burrow!" Then he stepped inside. When he emerged, he was inside his own house. 

His mother was in the kitchen busily preparing supper. Without looking up, she asked warmly, "Have a good day, Ron, dear? They're keeping you busy, I hope." 

"Very," Ron replied, rubbing below his bruised and now puffy eye. 

Mrs. Weasley looked up at him. She gasped, "Ronald Weasley! What's happened to your face?" She rushed over to him, cradling his face in her hands. "Is this what they teach you in that Ministry--how to hurt yourself?!" 

"It's all right, Mum," Ron protested as she fussed over his left eye. "It's just a scratch." 

Ginny stepped into the room and Ron gave her a pleading look. She rolled her eyes and said loudly, "Mum, stop fussing over him." 

Mrs. Weasley stepped away from Ron, still rubbing his cheek. 

"Ouch!" Ron said, jumping back. 

"See?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Ron has always been more prone to bumps and bruises than the rest of you." She held his shoulders with her hands. "I want you to promise me you won't come home on Monday with another black eye." 

Ron knew the more he protested, the more she would pester him. "Mum, when I get better, I'll have less injuries. I'm still not as good as half the other trainees--except Neville Longbottom, I'm still better than him." 

"Neville Longbottom's in training with you?" Ginny questioned, perking up. 

"Yeah." Ron smiled. "I always thought he'd go into Herbology or something, since that's the only thing he's good at." 

Ron chuckled a bit but Ginny frowned at him. "Neville picked his grades up quite a bit in his last three years. And if you'll recall, he received an E on his Potions N.E.W.T." she smirked. "You know it's the professors that make him nervous, especially Snape." 

"Well that's not saying much," Ron said. "Snape makes everyone nervous." With a quick glance at his mother, he muttered, "I don't miss _him_, that's for sure." 

"Who would?" Ginny murmured back, laughing. 

"That's enough about poor Professor Snape," Mrs. Weasley intervened harshly. 

"_Poor Professor Snape_?" Ron said incredulously. "There's nothing poor about him." His mother frowned deeply. "I'm sorry, but he's--" 

"Severus Snape has had a very difficult life," she said severely. 

"I don't know, torturing students sounds like fun to me." 

From that moment and all through their supper, Mrs. Weasley was very cold and unwilling to speak. When Ron's father came home from work, she piled food roughly onto his plate without a word. Ron didn't particularly care how his mother acted toward him; if she was angry, he wasn't going to protest. Fred found the unusual silence rather amusing and found it difficult to eat and laugh at the same time. George wasn't home, a fact that was increasingly becoming annoying to Mrs. Weasley. She looked at the clock that displayed all of the Weasleys. They were all at home, excepting Bill (who was in Egypt working for Gringotts), Charlie (who was in Romania), and George. George's face still pointed to "Work." He had never been late for supper before. 

"Why didn't you go into the shop today, Fred?" she demanded. 

"Erm...I wasn't feeling well." He was finally able to control his laughter. "George said he could handle it--you know business is going a little slow." 

"Doesn't the shop close at five?" she questioned. 

"Well," Fred began, thinking quickly, "we usually do...close at five, but there's a special today--all the Skiving Snackboxes you can fit in your pockets for just a galleon." 

Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes. "Fred, you know I can tell when you're lying to me." 

Before he could reply, the door swung open and George stepped inside. Ron had to stifle his laughter and Ginny, mouth slightly open, let her spoon fall with a clatter. Everyone turned to look at George, except Mrs. Weasley, whose face flushed. 

"Sorry I'm late, Mum," George apologized. "A couple delivery owls got a bit flustered and knocked down half the stock. Erm...did I do something?" 

"Fred was just telling Mum why you were late," Ginny piped up. "About the special..." 

George looked confused for a moment, then receiving a meaningful look from his twin, he said, "Oh, right, the special." 

Instead of saying anything at all, Mrs. Weasley, who was now very red in the face, stood up and stormed noisily into her bedroom. The other Weasleys flinched when her door was slammed shut. 

"What just happened?" George asked. 

Mr. Weasley, who up until this point was just as befuddled as George, frowned and stood up so he could look at both of the twins. Without taking his eyes off of Fred and George, he said, "Ron, Ginny, I need a few minutes with your brothers." When the sounds of retreating footsteps had vanished, he said slowly, "I'm disappointed in you boys. Keeping things from your mother and me. Lying? Fred, you know she doesn't approve of that." "I'm not keeping anything from her," George said. "I was late because of the owls...I might have run into an old friend, but the mess kept me." 

Fred stared at his plate until his father addressed him directly. "And what's all this about you feeling ill?" 

"That was my fault," George spoke up. "I told Fred not to come in." 

"Couldn't you have told your mother that, Fred?" Mr. Weasley asked. 

"Erm...well, I thought," Fred sputtered. "I thought George was doing something else, something Mum might not approve of." 

Flushing, George said quickly, "But I wasn't, so let's all just go to bed, then." He made for the stairs. 

"Why would Fred think that, George?" his father questioned. 

George shut his eyes and replied in a strong voice, "Because he thinks I'm in love with Hermione Granger." 

"Well, are you?" Mr. Weasley didn't sound disappointed anymore. On the contrary, he sounded genuinely curious. 

"No, I'm not!" George cried, throwing his hands up. "Since when are you all so interested in my love life, anyway?" 

Fred slipped past his twin and up the stairs. "It would be nice to see one of my sons settle down," Mr. Weasley replied quietly. 

"I'm only twenty-three," George said. He wasn't angry, just frustrated. "Besides, can you really see me settling down with anyone?" 

"Well, Fred seems to be managing it quite well," his father said, helping himself to some mashed potatoes. 

"That's because Angelina wears the pants in that relationship," George retorted. "They haven't married, anyway." 

Mr. Weasley frowned. "He hasn't asked her yet?" 

George was puzzled. "Pardon?" 

Taking a drink of water, Mr. Weasley explained, "Two weeks ago he told me he was going to talk to her father, you know, to get permission and his blessing. He did say that he'd gotten it, but now you're telling me you haven't heard a thing about it?" 

"Yeah." George nodded. "I saw Angelina today as well. If something had happened, she would have said so." He glanced up the staircase. "I'll go talk to him." 

"As much as I'd like to know what's going on, perhaps you shouldn't mention it." 

George nodded in agreement and went up to the room he and Fred shared. When he reached the door, Ginny came striding out. She smiled at him before entering her own room. Fred was sitting at his desk, scribbling madly onto a piece of parchment. He didn't look up, so George knocked on the doorframe. 

Fred turned around. "Oh, hello." He began writing again. "I suppose Dad's told you then." He dipped his quill into the inkbottle and continued writing. "I knew he would--that's why I came up here." 

"Why didn't you tell me, Fred?" George questioned, sitting down on his bed. "We're twins!" 

"I didn't want to tell anyone until I was absolutely positive," Fred responded. "In case she declined my offer." 

"Which she wouldn't." 

"How would you know?" Fred turned to look at him. "She might not be ready for that. I don't even know if _I'm_ ready for it." 

George didn't know what to say. He knew he couldn't make his brother feel any better. "You just have to go for it and ask her." 

Fred snorted and fingered the back of the wooden chair. 

"I'm sorry I got angry with you this morning," George said. "You can talk to whoever you want." 

"Thanks. And you can date whoever you want." He smiled and took something out of his pocket. "Do you want to see it?" 

George watched Fred open the box to reveal a plain golden band with one small gem at the center. "Well, at least you didn't get too fancy." 

Fred looked rather proud of himself. "I've bewitched it. It looks plain now, but when Angelina puts it on, it'll shimmer." He smiled and put it away. "She won't be expecting much...Angie doesn't really care about those kinds of things." 

"No," George said, "she doesn't." Without another word, he changed and crawled into bed. Fred sat at the writing desk for at least another hour before he shut off the light and went to bed himself. 


	4. Chapter IV

Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. I've actually written quite a bit more and will post it as soon as I can type it.

Something caused Hermione to sit straight up in her bed in the middle of the night. She peered around in the darkness. "Mum? Dad? Is someone there?" There was no answer so she pushed her blankets away and climbed out of bed. She slowly walked down the dark hallway—her parents were asleep in their room at the far end.

There was another loud noise and she jumped. And then she heard whispering. She could see a light flickering in another room. Frightened, she tried to control her breathing. Someone was in her house—more than one someone, at that. Quietly, she tiptoed back to her bedroom and retrieved her wand. Once again, she returned to the wall, flattening herself against it. The rain pounded down upon the roof almost as loud as her heart was pounding inside her chest. Hermione took a deep breath and rounded the corner. It was very dark, but she didn't dare draw attention to herself by using her wand. She was now close enough to hear what the voices were saying.

"You said it was _here_," one hissed, "but I've searched every damn drawer, closet, and compartment."

"I know it's here, I saw her carry it in," the other whispered back.

Hermione thought for a moment. What did _she _have that anybody would want? She was just a brilliantly smart witch out of work. She didn't have long to ponder it, however, because they began to speak again.

"Did either of you check her bedroom?" The first man was speaking again. His voice was fluid and cold—it reminded her of something. "Neither of you checked there? You _morons_, I thought you had." There was a pause and he hissed, "No, _I'll _do it. _You _two can't handle anything."

Hermione didn't know what to do. She wanted to run and hide, but she couldn't risk these men getting whatever it was that she had, however trite it may be. She took a deep breath. She would have to face them.

She pulled out her wand just as the man rounded the corner. "Well, well, well," Draco Malfoy drawled, "here's little Miss Granger herself." She was so shocked that no words would leave her lips. "_Expelliarmus_," he said, and her wand fell to the ground. "_Incarcerous_." Suddenly her hands and feet were bound and she could hardly move. "Now we don't need it—we've got you."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" she snarled.

He pointed his want at her. "_Stupefy_." And everything went black.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. Her hands and feet were no longer bound, but she was trapped in some kind of cellar. She couldn't remember much of what had happened—it seemed like weeks had passed since she had found herself staring into Draco Malfoy's beady eyes. She noticed she was still wearing her nightgown and began to feel very uncomfortable.

"All right, Granger," Malfoy said from a dark corner of the room, "this can be simple and take a few minutes, or we can do it the hard way—one that means a lot of pain for you." He fixed his cold eyes on her, stepping into the little light there was with his wand held up. "Now, I need to get my hands on some files, files that are only kept in…well, I believe it's your particular department of the Ministry of Magic."

"Why would you need anything from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department?" she questioned carefully. Hermione thought it best to get as much information out of him as she could before telling him she no longer worked for the Ministry. "All that's there is a load of file cabinets full of raid reports."

"Well, Granger, I thought _you _would be clever enough to figure this one out." He paused. "Since the security has rather increased over the past few years, I will need you to tell me _exactly _how to get in undetected."

"How would I know?" she said flatly. "I've never had to sneak into the Ministry."

"Oh shut up, Granger," he snapped. "There's got to be a code or a password, or a _card _of some sort!" He was so close to her face that she could see the pores of his skin. His eyes were wide. "_You know, _Mudblood…now _tell me_."

She said nothing, staring into his eyes. Malfoy slapped her and her cheek stung horribly. "You have to work for the Ministry to get through!" she said desperately. "You can't get in!"

"Don't said that!" he cried. "What's the secret?"

"It's a mark—they give you a mark…a magic one." She took in a quick breath as his eyes narrowed. "Before you can enter, security does a sweep with a wand—to make sure you have it. If you or whomever you're with doesn't have it, they won't let you in!"

"Well," he began, backing away, "it's a good thing you have one, then, isn't it?"

"But I don't work for the Ministry anymore!" she cried. "I resigned last week!"

Malfoy didn't look upset at all. "You still need to retrieve your belongings?"

"Well, yes, but—" Hermione, realization dawning on her, shook her head slowly. "No, I will _not _help you break in!"

"Oh, yes you will. Either you do it willingly, or I'll…" he flicked his wand, "_make you_."

"Oh, Hermione," Mr. Weasley exclaimed, "I was so shocked to hear of your resignation. I wish you'd reconsider—oh…who's this, Hermione?"

Malfoy was cloaked, with his hood drawn over his head. Hermione hesitated, then replied, "Erm…he's just a friend of mine…an old, _old _friend."

Mr. Weasley loosened the robes around his neck. "Wouldn't you like to take your hood down, sir? It's certainly hot in here. I think the heating must be on the fritz again."

Hermione looked extremely uncomfortable and said uneasily, "Well, I'd better get my things." She slipped past Mr. Weasley and Malfoy followed.

"Maybe we'll have tea sometime, huh?" Mr. Weasley suggested, waving.

When she reached her desk, she hurriedly packed her things into a box. She took down her pictures and threw them inside. "All right, you're in, now go."

"You've got to be mad, Granger," he sneered. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"But I got you in!" she whispered desperately.

"When the task is completed—"

"Draco, this isn't fair!"

"—I'll let you go," he finished. She stopped and looked at him. "Now, I'll need several names, _friends _of mine, from the Department of Mysteries."

Malfoy held onto her arm as they travelled down in the elevator. "Just how many of these people worked for Voldemort?" Hermione asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Oh, a few," he replied casually. The elevator stopped and he led her out, still gripping her arm. They walked down the long dark hallway and had almost reached the end when Malfoy suddenly turned and opened a door. They proceeded into the dark office where there was another door. "Tobin?" Malfoy said quietly. "It's Draco, Lucius' son. I need a favor."

A shrivelled man stepped into the light. His skin was pasty and wrinkled. It looked as though he had never seen the light of day. His nails were long, almost like claws, curling very slightly at the ends. "Draco, how you've grown."

Hermione glanced at Malfoy. He had finally lowered his hood. "I need you to contact some mutual friends." He took out a piece of parchment and handed it to the old man. "The raids must continue, Tobin. And I don't think it would hurt to take care of the Muggles as well…kill two birds with one stone."

"Yes," Tobin murmured. "Come, Draco, this way."

Hermione took her chance. Malfoy had let her go and she ran for it, through the door and out into the corridor.

"Hey!" Malfoy started to go after her.

"No," Tobin said firmly. "Let the silly girl go. We'll get her in time."

Malfoy stared at him with cold eyes. "As you wish," he resigned.


	5. Chapter V

"What are you going to do?" Ginny asked worriedly, setting her teacup down. Hermione had just told her everything that had happened the night before. "Maybe my dad could help."

"I don't want anything to happen to him," Hermione said. "If he knows, he's in danger. He's surrounded by corrupt Ministry workers there…They'd know in a heartbeat."

"Ron could help," Ginny suggested, her eyes lighting up. "He's gotten really good, now, and I bet he could get some of the other aurors to help."

Suddenly Ginny's bedroom door burst open. Ron rushed in, water dripping from his hair and robes. "Hermione, are you all right?"

She bit her lip. "You know…you know everything."

"It didn't take long," he said softly. "We've been watching old Tobin's room for years—since he's been gone. The sensors detected movement and we had to check it out." He tossed his robes onto the back of a chair and started wiping the rainwater from his face. "Don't worry, we'll get him. After he disappeared seven years ago, no one ever really thought he was gone."

"Who is he?" Ginny questioned. "Who's this Tobin man?"

Ron dropped his towel and sat down. "He's a maniac. He spent most of his life in a mental institution until they finally decided he was capable of living on his own. That's when they put him to work at the Ministry of Magic."

"What did he do there?" Hermione asked. She pulled her coat more tightly around her shoulders.

"He was a decoder," Ron replied. "When the Ministry intercepted messages from Death Eaters and other followers of Voldemort, he could decode them. They never meant anything to most people—looked like mindless rambling and babble, but he always decoded it." He laughed a little, spitefully. "Now we know why, I guess. He was one of them."

"Do you think he's been hiding in that room for seven years?" Hermione questioned, concerned. "He certainly looked it."

"You saw him?" Ron asked disbelievingly. Hermione nodded. "Wow." He stopped, thinking. "So, what were you doing down there, anyway?"

"Malfoy. He made me," she replied. "He threatened to kill me if I didn't help him get in. If he hadn't let his guard down, I don't know where I'd be right now." She shuddered. "I can still fell his icy hand around my arm." She paused. "He wanted names, people to contact. He said there were many Dark Wizards still active."

"You'll have to talk to the Minister," Ron said quietly. She nodded, letting him take her hand. "But not until tomorrow. I'll go with you."

"Thank you, Ron," she smiled weakly.

"Don't worry." His hands felt warm against her cold and clammy ones. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"And I won't either," Ginny stepped in.

Hermione laughed through her tears. "I know you won't." She wiped her eyes and stood up. Ron finally let go and walked her out. She hugged him tightly. "I'll be all right. I'm just a little shaken."

"If you ever want to talk…" he began, trailing off. "Erm, well, you know." She slowly put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. He put his arms around her and held her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. "Hermione."

She looked up and gently pushed his hair away from his eyes. "I'd better go." Hermione stepped away from his and Apparated.

"Wow, Ron," Ginny said from the stairs. "You certainly got what you wanted."

"Go to bed, Ginny," Ron snapped, glaring at her.

She frowned and walked up to her room. Ron sighed. There had to be a better way—there just had to.

Hermione and Ron stepped into the great lobby of the Ministry of Magic. She nervously followed him into the elevator. She remembered the last time she was in there and felt very uneasy about it. He took her hand, sensing those feelings, but she saw the same fear in his eyes, though he would not look at her. They were going down to the Department of Mysteries again, where Hermione would be questioned.

"Hermione, I—"

"Ron—"

They stopped. "You go first," said Ron.

"No, you," Hermione insisted.

"I think we should turn around." He sopped the elevator and set it to move in the opposite direction. "There's something I have to say, and—"

Suddenly the elevator stopped. Ron stumbled and Hermione nearly fell. "What's happening?"

"I dunno; it must be broken." Ron took out his wand and there was a shout from the other side of the door. Before they even knew what had been shouted, the elevator doors blasted apart violently. Hermione screamed.

"Well, I don't think you're upholding your part of the bargain, Weasley," Draco Malfoy sneered. Three men came out of the shadows behind him.

"I don't want to be a part of this anymore, Malfoy," Ron said savagely.

"You're already in too deep," Malfoy replied suavely. "Besides, it was your idea to kill the mudblood's parents."

"My idea? Are you mad?" Ron was aghast. "I had nothing to do with it!" He turned to Hermione, who had begun backing away from him. "Hermione, please listen to me, he's _lying_. I don't even know what he's talking about."

"You killed my parents?" Hermione managed to get out.

"Well, not me, _personally_," Malfoy said, smirking.

"How is that possible?" she exclaimed. "I was home—they—they were in their bed!"

"Were they breathing?" Malfoy asked.

She had had enough. Trembling with rage, she lunged at him, screaming, "You bastard! You passionless, guiltless bastard, I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" The thugs pulled her from Malfoy. "No! No, don't touch me! Get off of me, don't _touch _me!" she shrieked. They dropped her and she curled up on the hard cold floor, sobbing wildly.

Ron whipped out his wand, crying, "_Avada kedavr_—"

"_Expelliarmus_!" Malfoy and the three thugs shouted at once. Ron's wand flew out of his hand and his body was flung against the back wall of the elevator. He was unconscious.


	6. Chapter VI

George woke up the next morning in the dark. He was taken aback, as he had expected to awake to the blinding rays of the sun. He stood up and pulled up the blinds with a sharp yank. Dark clouds covered the sky and the sun was just a tiny red glimmer in the distance. He dressed quickly and stumbled downstairs in the darkness. He lit a fire in the fireplace and started turning on lights.

By the time Fred came down, he had breakfast ready and water boiling on the stove. "What, did the sun forget to set his alarm clock or something?" He rubbed his eyes sleepily, yawning. "Strange weather." George nodded. "I mean, we haven't had this kind of weather since…since…come to think of it, we've _never _had this type of weather."

Fred walked over to the table and picked up a small note that was lying there. "From Mum. She's gone to the Ministry with Dad. Says she doesn't know when she'll be back." He unrolled the newspaper and stared at it.

George looked up. "That's a Muggle paper. What's it doing here?"

"I dunno." Fred started reading. "Listen to this: 'Six homes in the area were broken into. Those that were unfortunate enough to be at home were found dead, while all their valuables were stolen.' Six houses." Fred shook his head in awe. "Poor Muggles."

"Murdered," George murmured. "Dark Wizards, do you think?" He took a bite out of his toast.

Fred shrugged and continued reading. Suddenly he dropped the paper down on the table. "Good god."

George looked up. "What?"

"It says, 'Condolences to the families Hewitt, Pritchard, Smith, Granger…' Granger. You don't think…?" Fred didn't finish his sentence. Hermione came through the door, supporting Ron.

George was at her side within a moment. "What happened?" Her face was red and there were dark circles around her eyes.

"Malfoy, he—" Ron winced as he sat down. "I didn't know he was killing people, I didn't know…"

"Oh, Hermione." George suddenly grabbed her and pulled her close. She remained silent as tears fell from her eyelashes.

"Has she been home?" Fred asked Ron quietly.

Ron shook his head. "No. I don't think she can take it." He rubbed his neck. It had been bothering him since he had woken up. He sighed deeply and looked up at his brother uncomfortably. "I did something horrible, Fred. I didn't know what I was doing—it just happened."

"Ron, don't," Hermione burst out, pulling away from George. "They don't need to know…As long as _I_ know why you did it, and that you didn't know—God, Ron, why did you trust Malfoy? What were you thinking?" She thought she would be able to forgive him, but he made it so difficult.

"Hermione, I love you! I want to be there for you—all the time, through everything!" he cried, standing up. "I made a mistake—I know, but I couldn't help it, because I just wanted you so badly." Fred and George slowly and hesitantly backed away, though George was slightly more hesitant than his twin.

"This doesn't make it better, Ron!" Hermione said. "You loving me doesn't make a difference!"

"Hermione—" Ron interjected.

"You signed my parents' death warrant!" she shouted.

"I saved your life!" Ron yelled.

She stopped. "What?"

"Malfoy said if I didn't tell him where to find you, he'd find you himself and kill you." He collapsed back into the chair and put his head in his hands, exhausted.

She stood up and started toward the stairs, then stopped and turned around. "You should have let him," she said and went up the stairs.

Ron sat up in the dark room for hours, as the fire slowly turned to glimmering embers. He rubbed his arm absently. Ever since the fall it had been bothering him, a sort of stinging pain that never seemed to go away. Darkness slowly engulfed him and sleep finally took him.


End file.
